


Life

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Anxiety, Canon alteration, Character Study, Gen, Negative self-image, frank discussion of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Beth isn’t going to die, but what does that mean?
Relationships: Elizabeth March & Josephine March
Comments: 24
Kudos: 98
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tablelamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablelamp/gifts).



At the ripe old age of five and a half, Beth March came to the conclusion that she was not meant to exist. It happened slowly and then all at once. She’d sometimes go out with Marmee to buy apples at the market or bootlaces at the cobbler’s, and find herself quite overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of downtown Concord. Here it must be noted that Concord was never nearly as hustly or bustly as shy little Beth perceived it, being a rather small country town on the outskirts of New England. Even so, Beth would retreat into her mother’s skirts, and pray that she might master the art of invisibility. Upon returning home, she’d bury her sorrows in Jo. 

“There were so many people!” she’d say. “It was loud. I was afraid!” 

“You’re better than any of them, Bethy,” Jo would answer, her voice low and boyish, as it got whenever her protective streak reared up. “You’re too good for this world.” 

As Beth grew older, she left a trail of childish social failures in her wake. She went to school for one day, and spent it tucked into a corner, refusing to look at anybody. 

“Never mind,” Marmee said, when Beth begged not to be sent out again. “I’m happy to have my angel at home— my dear cricket on the hearth.” 

Thus the years passed for a Beth. She learned that she and each of her sisters had at least one great fault that they needed to overcome; Meg was too given to romantic notions, and Amy too vain; Jo’s fiery temper was wont to bring danger to her and to others. 

Beth’s fault was her fear, yet it wasn’t always treated as such. Though Beth was praised for making slippers for Mr. Laurence next door, and for accompanying Marmee to visit the Hummels, it also seemed that those around her scrambled to canonize her shyness. She was _good_ after all, and her goodness lay in her timidity. Her refusal to go to school was seen as piety. 

Some days, Beth wished that she could be as joyous as Jo when she went running with Laurie. She wasn’t given to jealousy, but she _wished_. She wished that she could have just a pinch of passion, a dash of brazenness. 

“What would you do if I swore?” Beth asked Jo one day. “Maybe after accidentally dropping a tea cup. What if I broke it, and I swore?” 

“I’d eat my hat,” Jo said. “Wouldn’t believe it was you.” 

“What if I picked a fight with Charlie Stevenson in town? He’s dreadful. He throws rocks at beggars.” 

“Don’t be a goose. Leave that to me. I’ll show him what’s what.” 

Beth didn’t say much after that, except to beg Jo not to go on a rampage on her account. She hadn’t been seriously considering swearing or getting into brawls, but there was something in the knowledge that nobody wanted her to. It made a part of Beth shrivel— but not a very important part. She wasn’t even sad to see it go. She took care of her cats and her dolls. She hummed while she swept the floor. Her sisters called her perfect, and she called herself dumb when they weren’t listening.

————-

In the grand scheme of the world, Beth didn’t consider herself to be worth very much. It embarrassed her when others did. Birthdays were especially trying. As much as she loved being surrounded by her family, being sung at and presented with gifts and food was overwhelming. She’d usually take it as long as she could, then find a place to hide away to stroke her own smooth hair to calm down. Once the war started, she was able to avoid the scenario almost entirely, by asking that her family give her gifts and food to the poor instead of her. She tolerated the singing by accompanying it on the piano, which always made her feel serene. 

Beth loved everything about the piano, from the sound it made, to the feeling of the keys beneath her fingers. It made her forget that she was silly and inadequate. When she played, she was as alive as Jo and Amy and Meg. 

All of Beth’s sisters had their faults. Amy believed hers to be her nose. Meg believed hers to be the toughness of her hands. Jo lamented, more than once, what an abominable blunderbuss she was. 

A trip to the Hummels gained Beth a new and very interesting fault. Namely, she contracted scarlet fever and thus began the long dying process. 

——————

Of course, Beth didn’t die right away. She was far too loved, and far too sensible of that love. Marmee came home and saved her. Lying in bed, delirious with fever, she dreamt that the angels were singing to her. There was another home for her beyond her earthly one. It was just a matter of time.

Beth’s illness never truly went away. It waxed and waned. It seemed to disappear from time to time, only to return and ambush her whenever life became too exciting. Beth wasn’t suited to excitement, but at least she could play a supportive role in her sisters’ adventures. On Meg’s wedding day, Beth was healthy, but not truly healthy; her illness was lying in wait. On the day that Jo turned down Laurie’s proposal Beth wasn’t healthy at all, but she pretended to be for Jo’s sake, so that she could sit beside her and wipe away her tears. 

In truth, Beth had hoped that Jo would marry Laurie. She’d imagined an exciting life for them, right down to mapping out itineraries for their whirlwind European honeymoon in her mind each night to help herself get to sleep. Nights were the worst for Beth, for she could feel the fluids in her lungs rumbling and oozing no matter what position she endeavored to lay in. When she was done with her fantasy plans for Jo and Laurie, she had ample time to plan the lives of Amy and Meg. John Brooke, Beth decided, would one day manage to give Meg all the things she’d ever wanted. Amy would continue with her art, and perhaps find a mentor to help her along, her own personal Botticelli or da Vinci, who would love her and nurture her genius. 

Beth never made plans for herself. She supposed she would die. When she reached eighteen without doing so, she was only slightly troubled. At nineteen, Jo often referred to her as a woman instead of a girl. That was more worrying. What could Beth be, if not her dull little self, trotting around the house? 

———————

Jo took Beth to the seaside. The sea air made her stronger. 

Jo took Beth to the seaside again. Her cheeks grew rosier for a time, but the effects were less. 

Marmee and father spent money on medicine for Beth. She begged them not to. It was not merely that the medicines weren’t useful. It was that Beth herself wasn’t terribly useful.

Jo took Beth to the seaside once more. Beth allowed it, for she’d been feeling very poorly as of late, and suspected her time might be drawing near. She’d been coughing blood. She’d hardly been strong enough to walk under her own power. Watching the ocean waves move in and out, she was overcome by an odd sense of peace. She would soon go out like the tide. It would be gentle, and perhaps a little beautiful. Better still, Jo understood. She consented. 

For the first time, Beth began to plan her life. If her last days were upon her, she’d make them _good_. She’d spend them surrounded by family. She’d make little gifts to give to the world that she was so close to exiting. She’d spend what time she had left in small, dear little ways, that would leave nobody with regret. 

——————- 

It was true that Beth became very ill. Each labored breath became a chore. She saw her angels. Her hands became too weak to play on her piano, and then too weak to hold a sewing needle. She saw her angels. She reached the point where she could not lift her head, or respond to the sweet words of farewell that her family members whispered in her ear. 

Beth saw her angels, and they told her to turn around. 

——————-

The way back was not easy. It was steeper by far than the _Hill of Difficulty_ in Pilgrims Progress. Beth didn’t so much climb it as find herself pulled up it, dragged by some unearthly hand that cared little for her struggles, or the pain of the climb. 

Everybody remarked with wonder that she was getting stronger. At first Beth did not dare to say anything about it, but finally there came the day when she turned to Jo to whisper, in a tremulous tone, that she thought she would live after all. 

“But what shall I do?” Beth asked. She didn’t want to put a damper on her sister’s happiness, but how could she not ask? “What shall I do? I’m not like you.”

Jo’s face became thoughtful at that. She removed her boots, and swung her legs up onto the bed, that she might sit besides Beth. 

“You know, Bethy, I’ve always thought us very similar. Very similar indeed.” 

“How so?” 

“I don’t feel comfortable around most people. Never have. If I’m loud and rash, it’s to cover that up as much as anything else. And that’s not all! I hate change, just as much as you do. I’d stay home if I could, and set up a barrier against these wretched romantic notions that seem to be turning everyone’s head. It can’t be done, however, and I have no choice but to face it. Perhaps a tide is turning, but not the one you first imagined.” 

“But what shall I do?” asked Beth. 

“Be yourself, of course. Whatever happens, you’ll always have a place by me.” 

“You have books to write. A life to live. You might go back to New York, or Europe. You might marry someday.” 

Jo scoffed.

“You might!” 

“Maybe so, but life would be so much emptier without you.” 

“I might change, by and by,” Beth said. She fiddled with the edge of her comforter. What did she even mean by all this? Did she want to change?

“I dare say you will. We all have, and we all do. Every day, in fact.” 

“I could,” Beth said, “I could be a part of this world, perhaps.” 

“You can,” said Jo. “You can and you shall.”


End file.
